


Yule Goats

by Katzedecimal



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Gen, History Jokes, Holiday Traditions, Winter Solstice, Yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: Two ageless entities have walked the world since the dawn of time and watched history unfold.  Which means they like to laugh at historians, who get so much of it wrong.   And throughout history, in culture after culture, religion after religion, an entity embodying the spirit of winter comes among the people to bring gifts.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40





	Yule Goats

“ _Oh my S-_ … Angel! Angel, listen to this, this is hilarious!”

Aziraphale didn’t look up from where he was carefully refilling his glass, intensely focused on not spilling any of the wine they had been drinking for several hours. “Mm?”

“’Historians believe the tradition of burning the goats has its roots in an annual ritual sacrifice.’”

“’Ritual sacrifice?’” Aziraphale repeated, brow furrowing in tipsy puzzlement, “It wasn’t a sacrifice at all, it was vandalism!”

“Twentieth Century, wasn’t it?”

“Nineteen sixties or nineteen seventies, yes, thereabouts, I think,” Aziraphale nodded, “Sweden, it was, then.”

“The Gavlebocken, right! Big model of the straw goats people were already using as decorations, am I right?”

“I think you are?” Aziraphale stared at the ceiling, trying to remember and also not spill his wine all over his demon’s lap, “And then by the Twenty-First century, people had started burning their little household goats in emulation of the vandals burning the big goats.”

“Right, right,” Crowley swallowed his own wine and gestured with the glass, “And then there was that big pandemic in, what was it, can’t remember the exact year, anyways they thought it was because nobody had burned the goat that year.”

“Which started the tradition of burning a straw goat for luck and preventing of disease!” Aziraphale finished, proud that he’d remembered it all.

“Right! It was all grassroots folklore, it had nothing to do with any ‘winter gods.’”

“What ‘winter gods?’”

“It goes on to talk about the ‘ancient god of winter, San Taclaus.’”

Aziraphale choked on his wine. “That’s Santa Claus! He wasn’t a winter god, he was a Christian saint who had absorbed an older folkloric tradition, he was-”

“He was _you!_ ” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale pursed his lips, “He was more _you_ than me, it was your idea…”

“ **It was not!** …I mean, maybe _broadly_ … I mean… as a way of sowing avarice…”

“You can’t fool me, you old serpent,” Aziraphale touched the side of his nose (or tried to) with a wink, “I’ve known you too long. You didn’t like seeing any of the children going without in the winter. That’s why you asked **me** for help.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘help,’ exactly,” Crowley mumbled into his glass.

“ **You** needed a way to incite avarice, **I** needed a way to incite generosity. I have to say,” said Aziraphale as he attempted to refresh Crowley’s glass, “It worked spectacularly well on both counts.”

“I think that’s the only time I ever saw you with a beard, though. What happened with that?”

“Oh.. Yes,” Aziraphale looked embarrassed, “Well… When the children started… you know…” His voice dropped to a whisper, “Leaving offerings.” Crowley clapped his hand over his face and tried not to laugh. “It’s inappropriate! I’m an _angel!_ But they were so _inspired_ , they were being so _generous_ , making sacrifices from their stocks of food to share with me, I couldn’t… I _couldn’t_ **dissuade** them…”

“So you disguised yourself so your bosses wouldn’t figure out that it was you,” Crowley grinned knowingly.

“Maybe,” Aziraphale mumbled into his glass, “And anyways, sometimes it was you. Those times when I got called away and you stepped in…”

“Right!” Crowley laughed, “That time in Russia, the first time! Remember those kids who thought I was trying to steal the toys from you?”

“They thought you were a Baba Yaga,” Aziraphale agreed, “I remember you playing along! That was adorable.”

“I am **not** ‘adorable!’”

“You are when you’re playing with children, my dear,” Aziraphale said smugly, “It happened again in Iceland, as I recall. They thought you were a giantess!”

“Well, I’m tall and they were five, everyone looks like a giant when you’re five,” Crowley said reasonably.

“That reminds me… Were you really riding around on a _broomstick_ , that time you took it over in Italy?”

Crowley swallowed his wine, “Of course not! You can’t ride a broomstick.”

“But you did have one?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, “Well, old Krampus was trying to get in on the action, I was under stress…”

Aziraphale paused mid-sip, “Krampus wasn’t you? I thought Krampus was you!”

“No, he wasn’t me! Why would you think he was me?” Crowley scoffed, “Krampus was looking for a way to get a foothold and was riding my coat tails, as it were. Seriously, whipping children with sticks, stealing them off to Hell - why did you think he was me?”

“Schnapps,” said Aziraphale.

“…Okay, fair point,” Crowley conceded, “I steal the gifts, though, not the kids.”

“I did wonder about that but I thought the legend had just been exaggerated,” Aziraphale shrugged. He winked and tapped his nose again, managing not to miss, “So you were cleaning people’s houses for them, in Italy, in addition to bringing the gifts.”

“Might have been,” Crowley admitted. 

“I might have known it would be you, behind all those tomte and brownie legends,” Aziraphale smirked.

“I get stressed, alright? You know I clean when I’m stressed.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Shut it…”

“’Snow Maiden.’”

Crowley nearly sprayed his wine. “Look, you know humans all see us differently, how was I to know?”

“Quite a surprise, going back to Russia the next year and finding out I’d acquired a granddaughter,” Aziraphale chuckled, “Snegoruchka.”

“It’s better than being a Baba Yaga,” Crowley said, and drank wine. “Wales.”

“Eh?”

“Remember that time in Wales? You never did tell me what that was all about.”

“What time in Wales, I don’t know - _Oh!_ Do you mean that time you showed up with that wassailing gang of ruffians in the horse costume? What was that about?”

“No idea, I was just supposed to be along for the fomenting.”

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale said sternly, “And you weren’t very subtle about it, either.”

“Excuse you, I’m very subtle!”

“You were so subtle, they sent Archangel Tsadqiel to investigate!”

“Ohhhhhhhh! _That’s_ why you started the song battle!”

“I was trying to get you to leave before she could pick up on you.”

“Good thing it worked, then,” Crowley winked, “The guys _loved_ it! They did it again the next year, it became a tradition in the area.” Crowley drained his cup and held it out for another refill. “Seriously though, Angel, I had only just got there! They sent **me** in because the other guy kept messing it up!”

“I did wonder - oh bugger,” Aziraphale said as wine dribbled onto the blanket, “It was quite out of character for you. You **are** normally much more subtle than that. I’ve always said so.”

“Yeah. Never did figure out what was up with the horse skull costume though.”

“Well as I understood it, they were a gang of wassailing ruffians going around.. _wassailing_ ,” the angel sniffed in disapproval as he tried to dab at the stains on the blanket.

Crowley grinned, “Wave around a giant horse skull to intimidate people into giving up their alcohol and cheese?”

“Hmm… Frankly, that sounds about right for humans,” Aziraphale agreed, “Like burning the goats.”

“Just one of those silly things the humans do for fun?”

“Mmm.”

“Bloody historians.”

“Mmm. Good Yule, my dearest. To your health.”

“Good Yule, Angel.”

_*clink*_

**Author's Note:**

> This spun out of a conversation with a Swedish friend about Yule goats (Julbocken), how burning straw goats has its origin in vandalism, and how historians might ponder about it in 500 years. 
> 
> If you are a historian, I apologise if I seem a bit harsh on your career but as a heritage crafter, I've had several encounters with your kind and their default belief that everything is related to superstition or religion. It's a bit surreal when someone is going on about 'casting counters, maybe for gambling or thrown for divination' while holding a handful of tatting shuttles, which aren't even that old (300 years history) and which even a quick Google image search would have shown them what the objects were. The "corn cob drying rack" was a close second (it was a bobbin rack holding corn cob spinning wheel bobbins, there was even wool still on the corn cobs....) Most things have very mundane explanations and a lot of them amount to "people have always been people"


End file.
